Chapter Text
The firehouse smelled like coffee and grease and smoke, the same as it always had, but Buck couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t quite the same. He sat at the table with a plate of scrambled eggs in front of him, listening to Chim crack a joke about Hen’s terrible singing at the last karaoke night, and he forced himself to smile along with the others. The laughter swelled, warm and loud, bouncing off the kitchen walls, and for a second, if Buck closed his eyes, he could almost pretend nothing had changed.
Almost.
The lawsuit still lingered like smoke after a fire.
Quiet. Impossible to ignore.
They’d all forgiven him, at least on the surface. He was back on shift, he went out on calls, he took orders from Bobby without hesitation, and he worked with the others like muscle memory. They joked with him at the table, they teased him on downtime, they talked about their lives, they ate meals together, they cheered with him when a call went well. To anyone looking in, it probably seemed like everything had gone back to normal.
But Buck knew better.
Normal used to mean Eddie texting him about grabbing a beer after shift, or Chris calling to ask if Buck could come over and help him with his math homework. It used to mean Bobby offering fatherly advice when Buck lingered too long after work, Chim and Maddie telling him to come over for dinner, or Hen inviting him over for wine ‘just because’. Now, outside the station walls, the world was quiet. His phone didn’t buzz with late night texts, aside from the ongoing 118 group chat. His loft didn’t echo with the sound of friends. He filled the silence with walks, runs, and documentaries.
He was grateful they’d let him back. He told himself that over and over. They’d had every reason to shut him out permanently, but they hadn’t. They’d let him in, forgiven him enough to let him put the uniform back on. That should have been enough. He should have been satisfied with that. But the ache in his chest told him it wasn’t.
Buck stabbed at his eggs and tried not to think too hard about how lonely his loft felt at night. Across the table, Eddie was talking to Hen, his hands moving as he described something. Buck tuned in without meaning to, his ears always attuned to Eddie’s voice.
“...and Shane got us tickets,” Eddie was saying, grinning. “Front row. I haven’t been to a fight in years, but man, it was like stepping right back into it. The energy in that place was insane.”
Hen laughed. “You’re telling me you still remember how to dodge and weave?”
Eddie chuckled. “Barely. But Shane does. He used to compete, actually. He showed me a few moves after. I’m out of practice, but it felt good, you know? Like muscle memory.”
Buck forced another bite of eggs into his mouth, ignoring the sour taste spreading through his gut. Shane. He’d heard the name a few times in passing, but never more than a mention. Eddie always smiled when he said it, though, always lit up like Buck hadn’t seen in a while. Shane was Eddie’s new friend.
Buck pretended not to listen as Eddie launched into another story about how Shane had introduced him to some new place for tacos, or how they’d taken Chris to the park after. The others were grinning, chiming in with jokes and questions. Buck chewed silently, pretending he wasn’t hanging on every word. Pretending the knot in his chest wasn’t tightening with every mention of Shane’s name.
They hadn’t hung out, not really, not since the lawsuit. Well, in reality, the distance had started even before then. Outside of Chris, anyway. Every time Buck suggested grabbing a beer or seeing a movie, Eddie had an excuse ready, he was too tired, too busy, it wasn't a good time. But somehow, he always had time for Shane.
Buck pushed his plate away. “I’m gonna go check the rig,” he said, forcing cheer into his voice. No one looked at him too closely, too caught up in Eddie’s story.
He walked out into the cool morning air and leaned against the engine, exhaling slowly. He shouldn’t be jealous. Eddie deserved friends. Eddie deserved happiness. Buck wanted that for him. But he couldn’t ignore the sting of being left behind, like he was yesterday’s news, like he was something Eddie had outgrown.
He shoved his hands into his pockets, staring at the ground. The firehouse doors were open, the world bustling outside, but Buck felt like he was standing on the wrong side of the glass, watching life move without him.
Later, after shift, the guys all lingered in the locker room, talking about grabbing food. Buck hung back, listening.
“You coming, Eddie?” Hen asked, slinging her bag over her shoulder.
“Can’t,” Eddie said, tugging on his jacket. “Shane’s picking me up. We’re catching the fight on pay per view at his place.”
“Again?” Chim teased. “You two are practically joined at the hip.”
Eddie smirked. “What can I say? He’s good company.”
Buck’s throat felt tight. He shoved his sneakers into his bag and plastered on a grin. “I’ll catch you guys later,” he said, too quickly. Nobody questioned it.
He drove home in silence, the city lights blurring past him. His loft was dark when he got there, still and empty. He dropped his bag on the floor and sat on the couch, staring at the blank television screen. His phone sat silent on the coffee table. No texts. No calls.
He thought about Eddie laughing at Shane’s jokes, about Chris sitting between them, happy and content. He thought about how easily he’d been replaced, how quickly. His chest ached with it, sharp and suffocating.
Buck leaned forward, pressing his palms against his eyes until he saw stars. He told himself it was fine, that Eddie deserved to have friends. He told himself it didn’t matter. But the truth was, it did. It mattered more than he wanted to admit.
Because Eddie wasn’t just his friend. Eddie was everything. His anchor, his constant, the one person he thought he could never lose. And now, Buck wasn’t so sure.
He sat back on the couch, head back, and stared at the ceiling until the sun came up, the loneliness pressing down on him heavier than ever.
The next shift was busy, a string of calls that left Buck bruised and exhausted. By the time they sat down for dinner, Buck’s body ached, but his chest ached worse. Eddie was telling another story, this time about how Shane had helped him fix the brakes on his truck. The others laughed, chimed in, and Buck smiled through it all, nodding like it didn’t hurt to hear.
At some point, Eddie’s phone buzzed. He glanced at it, smiled, and slipped it back into his pocket. Buck didn’t need to ask who it was.
He told himself he could live with this. That Eddie didn’t owe him his time, that he was being selfish to want it. But the truth pressed down harder every day, he missed him. He missed the Eddie who would show up at his loft with a six pack and a grin, the Eddie who would drag him to pick Chris up from school just because, the Eddie who would sit on his couch and watch bad movies until two in the morning. He missed his best friend.
And no matter how much he tried to tell himself otherwise, he was terrified he was losing him for good.
Buck wasn’t a quitter. He told himself that every morning when he rolled out of bed and stared into the silence of his loft. He had fought his way back into the 118 after the lawsuit, clawed his way through physical therapy after his accident, and forced himself to keep showing up even when the weight of disappointment pressed down so heavy it nearly crushed him.
So, he wasn’t about to quit on Eddie.
Things weren’t like they used to be. Buck knew that. He felt it in the quiet space Eddie left behind where their friendship used to sit, bright and steady. But he couldn’t just accept it. He couldn’t lose Eddie. Not when Eddie was the one person who had made him feel like he belonged, even when the world told him he didn’t.
So, Buck decided he’d meet him halfway.
It started small, texting Eddie about movies that were coming out, games they could watch, restaurants he’d found that had good reviews. Eddie usually replied, polite but distant, a ‘maybe’ or a ‘sounds good’ or ‘let me know when’ that never led anywhere. Still, Buck kept trying.
One night after shift, he scraped together every bit of optimism he had left and walked over to Eddie’s locker as he packed up, getting ready to go.
“Hey,” Buck said, leaning casually against the row of lockers like his heart wasn’t pounding. “So, um… I was thinking there’s that new Marvel movie out. Chris has been dying to see it, right? I thought maybe the three of us could go Saturday. My treat.”
Eddie zipped his bag shut and glanced up, offering a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s nice of you, Buck. But Shane already got tickets for us. We’re catching it this weekend.”
The smile on Buck’s face froze. He laughed it off, too loud, too quick. “Oh. Yeah, sure. No worries. Another time then.”
Eddie nodded, shouldered his bag, and was gone before Buck could say anything else.
Buck stood there staring at the empty doorway, his chest aching like he’d just run into a wall full force.
He told himself not to take it personally. Eddie had other friends. Eddie deserved to have other friends. It wasn’t about him. It wasn’t rejection, not really.
But it felt like it.
A week later, Buck tried again.
This time, he decided not to wait for Eddie to invite him in, he would invite himself. Not in a pushy way, he told himself, just… friendly. Showing interest. He wanted to know Shane too, wanted to prove he wasn’t threatened, that he could be part of whatever new thing Eddie had going.
So, when Eddie and Shane were talking in the bay, Shane having dropped by to give Eddie something he'd forgotten in his car, Buck walked up, heart hammering in his chest.
“Hey,” he said with a grin. “You guys got plans tonight? I was thinking, maybe a movie night? There’s that new thriller at the multiplex. Could be fun. We could grab popcorn, hang out.”
Shane looked at Eddie, and Eddie looked at Shane, and in that split second, Buck knew the answer before Eddie even said it.
“Thanks, Buck, but we already got tickets for the fight downtown,” Eddie said. His tone was kind, careful, but there was no opening in it. “Maybe another time?”
“Right,” Buck said, laughing again like it didn’t sting. “Of course. Another time.”
They smiled at him, polite, and went back to their conversation. Buck stood there a moment longer, the edges of his grin aching before he finally turned and walked away.
He told himself not to cry. Not here. Not in the firehouse where everyone could see.
The cancelled plans stacked up like bricks on his chest.
‘Can’t tonight, Buck, sorry.’
‘Not a good time, maybe next week.’
‘I already promised Shane, I’d help him out.’
Every no was delivered with a smile, with an apology, but they all cut just the same. And Buck kept telling himself it wasn’t rejection, that Eddie still cared, that if he just held on long enough maybe things would go back to how they were.
But every time he saw Eddie laugh with Shane, every time he watched them share a look like they’d known each other forever, every time Eddie smiled when Shane’s name popped up on his screen, the hole in his chest grew wider.
Then Chris got sick.
Buck found out when Eddie mentioned it in passing at the station, a worried crease between his brows.
“Yeah, he’s running a fever,” Eddie said, sighing as he rubbed a hand over his face. “Just a bug, I think. He’ll be fine, but I hate seeing him like that.”
Buck’s heart twisted. Chris was his kid too, in all the ways that mattered. He hated the thought of him lying there miserable.
“Let me come by,” Buck said quickly. “I’ll make soup. We can do a quiet night, nothing big. I’ll keep him company while you get some rest.”
Eddie hesitated, then shook his head. “Thanks, Buck, but we’re just gonna keep it low key tonight. Just the two of us. He needs rest more than anything.”
The words landed like a punch. Buck forced a smile, nodding like it didn’t break him. “Sure. Of course. I get it.”
But the next day, scrolling absentmindedly through Instagram, Buck froze.
Chris had posted a picture, Eddie on the couch, Shane beside him, Chris tucked between them with a blanket.
The caption read: Sick. But have Dad and Shane!
Buck’s vision blurred. He sat the phone down on the table, but the image was seared into his brain, sharp and merciless.
It wasn’t just Eddie who had shut him out. It was Chris too, his little buddy, the kid who used to call him for homework help and beg him to come over for video games. And now Shane was there, taking his place, sitting where Buck should have been.
He told himself it was fine, that Chris was happy, that Eddie was doing his best. But his chest ached so fiercely he could barely breathe.
He sat awake that night, the silence of his loft pressing in on him like a weight. He thought about Eddie’s easy laughter with Shane, about Chris curled up against them, and the loneliness in his chest clawed deeper, sharper.
He wanted to call someone, but his contacts list felt like a graveyard. Maddie barely reached out anymore, too wrapped up in her own life. The team talked to him at work, but no one called after. And Eddie...was too busy with Shane.
Buck turned his phone face down, shutting out the silence of it.
The next shift, Buck tried to act normal, tried to joke with Chim and laugh at Hen’s stories, tried not to let the hollow ache show. But he caught Eddie glancing at his phone between calls, smiling at texts Buck knew weren’t from him, and the pit in his stomach only grew deeper.
He wanted to scream, to ask Eddie what he’d done wrong, why he wasn’t enough anymore. But the words stuck in his throat, choked down by fear.
Because what if Eddie told him the truth? What if he really didn’t need him anymore?
So, Buck stayed quiet. He smiled when he had to, laughed when the others did, and carried the loneliness home with him at the end of the shift.
Back to his silent loft.
Back to the emptiness.
He sat in his loft that night, feeling like he was disappearing, wondering if maybe no one would even notice if he did.
Buck stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, toothbrush still dangling in his hand. His eyes looked dull, tired, the kind of exhaustion that didn’t come from lack of sleep but from carrying too much. He dragged the brush across his teeth automatically, the taste of mint bitter in his mouth, and told himself he’d get through another day. Another shift. Another twenty four hours of putting on a smile and pretending everything was fine.
But when he checked his phone, thumb hovering over Bobby’s contact, the weight in his chest grew too heavy to ignore. The thought of walking into the station, of seeing Eddie laughing about something Shane said or Hen giving him that quiet, worried look, felt unbearable.
Before he could stop himself, Buck typed out the lie.
Buck: Hey Bobby, not feeling great. Think I’ve caught something. Gonna take a sick day, sorry. We have a few days off after this shift, should be good next shift.
He stared at it for a long moment before hitting send. His chest twisted with guilt, but relief bled in behind it. He didn’t have the energy to play ‘fine’ today. Not when everything inside him was breaking.
Bobby’s reply came fast.
Bobby: Feel better kid, if you need anything let me know. Athena is off shift today, so call her if you need anything picked up. - Bobby Nash
He smiled. He wasn’t going to reach out, but it was nice of Bobby to say.
Buck: Thanks Bobby, see you next shift.
Bobby must have informed everyone because by the time he finished getting ready, the texts came quickly, warm and simple.
Hen: Feel better, Buck. Rest up.
Chim: Take it easy. Don’t push yourself. Answer Maddie if she calls.
Eddie: If you need anything, let me know. I can drop soup or whatever you need off after shift. Could even stay and keep you company. Chris is staying at a friend’s tomorrow night.
Buck stared at Eddie’s message until the words blurred. Buck wasn’t sure how to take it. He was offering to come over? After bailing and turning down all his offers? But now that Buck is ‘sick’, he wanted to come around.
It annoyed Buck. He didn’t want to deal with it right now.
So, he just typed back.
Buck: I’m good, thanks. Just need rest. I already have company. Thanks.
And that was that. He knew he was being petty, but he didn’t care. He couldn't just pick and choose when he wanted to be friends, and when he didn't.
He dropped his phone on the couch and sat there for a long time, the silence of the loft pressing in like a heavy blanket. The sick day excuse had bought him time, but time only stretched the ache wider. He couldn’t stay here, couldn’t sit in the silence and wait for his thoughts to swallow him whole.
He needed air. Space. Something bigger than himself to drown out the noise.
So, he packed a bag, filled a water bottle, laced up his boots, and told himself a hike would clear his head.
The trail stretched wide at first, sun warming his shoulders as he moved steadily uphill. The trees swayed overhead, the crunch of gravel beneath his boots steady, grounding. For a little while, he let himself breathe, let himself imagine the ache might ease if he just kept moving.
He’d always liked hiking the solitude, the views, the reminder that there was a world bigger than his problems. He thought maybe if he pushed himself hard enough, climbed high enough, the heaviness pressing on his chest might finally let go.
But the further he walked, the louder his thoughts became.
He thought of Eddie’s smile when he talked about Shane. He thought of Chris’s post, of the couch where Buck should have been but wasn’t. He thought of the texts that had come this morning kind, polite, nice enough. But in the past, Eddie wouldn’t have offered to come over, he would have just shown up, let himself in with beer and pizza, and made himself at home. But it was different now.
They all just accepted his ‘I’m good’ without question.
Buck wiped at his forehead, sweat slicking his skin, and pushed himself harder up the incline. His chest ached with more than exertion. He felt invisible, like he could disappear and no one would notice until it was too late.
The trail narrowed, cliffs stretching jagged to one side, and Buck slowed his pace. His boots scuffed loose gravel, the sound sharp against the quiet air. He told himself to be careful, to focus on his footing, but his thoughts kept tugging him away.
If I vanished right now, would anyone know?
The rock beneath his right boot gave way.
Buck’s heart lurched into his throat as the ground crumbled, the world tilting violently. His body pitched forward, and then he was falling, tumbling down the cliffside in a blur of dirt, rock, and sky.
Pain exploded as he slammed into the ground below, the impact stealing the air from his lungs. He gasped, choking, vision flickering with white hot stars.
For a long moment, he couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.
Then the pain roared sharp and ruthless. His ankle screamed, twisted at an unnatural angle. His chest burned with every breath, ribs stabbing like knives. His head pounded, the edges of his vision blurring.
Buck groaned, rolling weakly onto his side. His fingers scraped against dirt, trembling as he tried to push himself up, but his body refused. He collapsed back, gasping, the sky above him tilting in and out of focus.
Alive. Barely.
The hours blurred together, marked only by the sun sliding across the sky and the relentless throb of pain. He drifted in and out of consciousness, his throat dry, lips cracked. He tried to shout once, but the sound came out broken, carried away by the wind.
He thought of his phone, useless in his bag sitting in his Jeep. He thought of the texts from that morning.
Would anyone come?
He laughed, a hollow, broken sound that tore at his ribs. Of course they wouldn’t. They thought he was home, sick, resting just like he said. And maybe, they’d be relieved not to have to deal with him for a while.
The thought twisted in his chest, sharper than the broken bones.
Day turned to night, and Buck shivered against the cold, pain nagging at him. His stomach cramped with hunger, his mouth burned with thirst, and still no one came.
On the second day, he tried to crawl, dragging himself inch by inch through the dirt, but his body gave out before he made it far. He collapsed in the dust, chest heaving, tears cutting tracks through the grime on his face.
On the third day, he stopped trying.
The silence pressed heavier than the pain. No footsteps. No voices. No one calling his name. His absence screamed louder than words, but no one was listening.
But then footsteps finally broke through the quiet. A voice called out faint, distant, but real.
“Hello? Is someone down there?”
Buck tried to lift his head, but the world tilted violently. He wanted to answer, wanted to shout, but only a hoarse whisper scraped past his lips.
The sound of scrambling footsteps grew closer, and then a face appeared above him wide eyed and alarmed. A hiker.
“Oh my God,” the stranger breathed, already pulling out their phone. “Hang on, buddy. I’m calling 911. Just hold on.”
Buck tried to nod, but his head throbbed, vision swimming. He heard a faint conversation, the words trail collapse and severe injuries, before darkness pulled him under.
He didn’t hear the sirens when they came.
Didn’t see the 136 arrive.
Didn’t feel the hands that lifted him onto the stretcher, the oxygen mask pressed against his face, the frantic voices cataloguing his injuries.
All Buck knew was the darkness, and the bone deep certainty that when he had needed them most, no one had come.